


if we live to see the other side of this

by ghostnebula



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Established Relationship, Fishing, Fluff, M/M, Sex (brief mention), reluctant conversations about the impending future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 05:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18087938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostnebula/pseuds/ghostnebula
Summary: There’s something coming. Something big. O’Hanrahan can smell it, feel it in his gut. The air’s thick with tension, buzzing like a swarm of cazadors over the horizon. Word is, they’ll be making a move on the dam soon, though just how soon he can’t say. Any day now.Despite everything that’s going on, he manages to get his hands on some R&R. It’s probably gonna be his last day off for the foreseeable future so he does his darndest to get a hold of Courier Six, sending a letter to the Lucky 38 asking him if he’s so inclined would it trouble him to join O’Hanrahan for a day out by the lake with nothing but fishing rods, cold beers, and peace n’ quiet, missing you dearly, love you lots, and so on, so forth.Two fellas, a boat, some beers, a shack, and the thoughts they're trying to avoid.





	if we live to see the other side of this

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this as a continuation of [Something Special](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9695672) set a few months later, but i don't think you need to read that first to understand this'un

There’s something coming. Something big.

O’Hanrahan can smell it, feel it in his gut. The air’s thick with tension, buzzing like a swarm of cazadors over the horizon. Word is, they’ll be making a move on the dam soon, though just how soon he can’t say. Any day now.

Despite everything that’s going on, he manages to get his hands on some R&R. It’s probably gonna be his last day off for the foreseeable future so he does his darndest to get a hold of Courier Six, sending a letter to the Lucky 38 asking him if he’s so inclined would it trouble him to join O’Hanrahan for a day out by the lake with nothing but fishing rods, cold beers, and peace n’ quiet, missing you dearly, love you lots, and so on, so forth.

He doesn’t hear back—no big deal, just Six’s way—so he assumes he’ll spend his free time catching up on one of the books he started but never finished. That’s the plan, until Six shows up at oh-six-hundred on the morning of his day off and scoops him into a big ol’ hug and peppers him with kisses right in front of his squad. O’Hanrahan goes about as red as an apple, but no one seems to notice. There’s a lot more on their minds.

Truthfully, he’s glad to get out of Golf for a while. Everyone’s walking around all stony-faced and haunted looking, like they’re attending their own funerals. It’s more than understandable, given the circumstances, but he’s starting to find it suffocating. The gloom’s as thick as dust in the air and he’s itching to get away from it, even if just for a day.

O’Hanrahan’s all ready to lead Six to the lakeside fishing spot he heard talked about by one of his superiors, but Six has a different idea. See, at some point in Six’s travels, he’d acquired a boat. O’Hanrahan always thought he was just kidding around, until Six leads him down to a shack by the lake where a boat sits tethered to a rickety dock. It’s a dingy little rowboat that doesn’t look capable of holding a child, let alone two fully-grown fellas, but Six notices the look on O’Hanrahan’s face and assures him it’s seaworthy. Still, Six won’t let him in the boat ‘til he swears he knows how to swim.

They’ve brought a cooler filled with a whole manner of drinks and snacks and they place it in the boat with the fishing rods O’Hanrahan bought off a passing trader in a fit of nostalgia. He still can’t really remember _why_ he bought ‘em—he hasn’t been fishing since he was yea high—but he does remember how it felt to stand shin-deep in the creek running along the back of the farm where he grew up, how his granny used to take him down there and show him how to bait and cast, how his biggest concern was catching a fish big enough for dinner. He’s been thinking about that farm a lot lately.

The wind whipping off Lake Mead is fresh and cool, and they set out onto the water before the sun gets too high in the sky. Six does most of the rowing, despite objections, but he lets O’Hanrahan take over for a while when he gets tired. It’s blessedly mild with the sun ducking in and out from behind the clouds, and before too long they find a decent spot to cast their lines. Six’s been chatting away the whole ride over and is eager to keep talking but O’Hanrahan whispers at him to shush, he might scare off the fish. There’s a long silence before Six clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck, and quietly admits he doesn’t really know what a fish actually is. O’Hanrahan’s so surprised he nearly drops his line.

“But _why_ would you wanna go fishin’ if you didn’t even know what a fish _was_?”

Six sputters, flustered. “Well— I mean— I don’t— I didn’t care about all _that_ , I just wanted to spend time with ya!”

And O’Hanrahan’s so touched he forgets all about the absurdity of agreeing to go fishing when you don’t even know the meaning of the noun you’re verbing.

They don’t get a bite all morning, so around midday they make for land. Six guides them all the way up to a secluded piece of shore nestled between the cliffs, the only bit of land around that doesn’t plunge straight into the water. It’s a nice little spot for them to sit out of the sun, share beers, and skip stones across the surface of the lake. O’Hanrahan leans back against a rocky wall, his face in the shade and his back to the Mojave. With nothing but them and the sand and the smooth-as-glass lake in sight, it feels like they’re the only two fellas on earth. Two fellas with nothin’ more to worry about than the weather.

“And lakelurks,” Six says, scratching his chin when O’Hanrahan shares that thought with him. “Think there’s a lakelurk den somewhere around here.”

Six is just kidding, though. He hopes.

When the shadows from the cliffs start getting long, they head back onto the lake, choosing a different spot to set up their lines this time. Six had refused help earlier, saying he was just fine figuring this fishing thing out on his own, but now he scoots close and hands over his fishing rod when O’Hanrahan beckons. He places his hands over the courier’s, tanned dark and callused and scarred, and shows him the fastest way to bait a hook, and how to cast without accidentally getting your hook caught on someone’s shirt and ripping it right up the middle. O’Hanrahan admits that he may or may not have torn up more than a few of his granny’s shirts with his overzealous casting, and Six laughs until he wheezes.

Being out on the lake with nothing to do but watch their lines gives them ample time to talk. O’Hanrahan tells Six more about his granny, and growing up on the farm, and his family, and how he wonders things are going back there, and if his army money is helping them any. He clears his throat, trying to cover up the slight hitch his voice always gets when he talks too much about home. It’s not as bad as it used to be—when you were in the army, you learned right quick not to get all misty-eyed at the thought of your mama—but it’s still there; a pang of homesickness he can’t quite shake.

Six doesn’t seem to have that problem. He grew up with caravans, always moving from place to place. Says he doesn’t get homesick because he doesn’t really have a home to miss. There’s places he stayed longer than others that he talks about fondly, but for the most part he’s had that wanderlust in him since birth. He tried to settle down, started up a tannery in the Hub with an old friend, but it wasn’t the life for him. As soon as his business partner bought him out, he took his windfall and headed east. Didn’t look back once.

“Seems kinda exciting, that life,” O’Hanrahan muses. “Being able to pack up n’ move on whenever you please. No obligations, or, or army contracts holdin’ you back.”

“Mm,” Six says, as he turns away and looks out at the sky.

They head back to the dock by the shack once the sun starts to dip below the horizon, rowing quickly so they’re not caught in the middle of the lake when night falls. The old dock creaks and a piece of rotten wood falls into the water as Six tries to tether the boat to what’s left. Seems almost like a fool’s errand—one strong gust of wind is gonna knock that dock right over and the boat’s as good as gone—but O’Hanrahan helps Six secure the knots regardless.

“Suppose I should start headin’ back, huh?” O’Hanrahan asks once they’re done with the boat, looking over Six’s shoulder at the squat silhouette of Camp Golf in the distance.

“Ahhh, c’mon,” Six says, nudging O’Hanrahan with his elbow. “Let me hold onto ya a little while longer. You got the whole day off, right? That should count at _least_ ‘til midnight.”

Six has a point, and that’s all the convincing O’Hanrahan needs. He uses the last of the light to gather some wood and gets a fire going next to the shack, while Six sets up a little spit for them to cook their supper—a couple of bighorner steaks that were wrapped in paper and stashed at the bottom of the cooler. Turns out it’s a good thing Six didn’t know what a fish was and didn’t plan on eating one for dinner; they didn’t make a catch all day. Six was the only one who got a proper tug on his line, but he was so excited when he reeled in his fish that he dropped it right back in the water again.

The smell of roast meat soon fills the air and the fire pops and crackles cheerily, sending embers sparking and dancing into the darkening sky. Six scoots around the fire ‘til he’s next to O’Hanrahan and drapes his big arm around him, pulling him close. It’s a warm night, almost too warm for cuddling, but he rests against Six all the same, breathing in his smell of dirt and sweat and smoke. It’s not long before their food is done and they eat, and drink, and talk, and watch as the stars come out. The night sky is as clear as anything, and the lake’s so smooth and still it reflects the stars like a giant mirror. If it wasn’t for the dark silhouette of the mountains against the horizon, you wouldn’t be able to tell where the lake ends and the sky begins.

Six frowns as the sound of war drums starts up and drifts down from the Legion base on top of Fortification Hill, thrumming and ominous, like thunder in the distance. He pulls O’Hanrahan a little closer, grips his hand a little tighter.

“Hey,” Six says, as he threads his fingers between O’Hanrahan’s, “you’ve never... you’ve never been in a real fight before, have you? A real battle?”

“Naw. You know I don’t like—”

“Hurting people,” Six finishes. “Yeah.”

The silence between them was comfortable earlier, but now it’s making O’Hanrahan fidgety. He clears his throat before asking, “Something on your mind?”

Six shakes his head. He doesn’t elaborate, just watches the fire, the flames dancing in his eyes.

O’Hanrahan knows what people think of him. They mistake his niceness for naivete, his slow way of speaking for stupidity. Now, he may not be particularly numbers-minded or tech-savvy or anything, but he’s not completely vacant either. He reckons he knows pretty well what’s on Six’s mind. This battle for Hoover Dam—it’s gonna be big and bloody and there’s a chance that one or maybe both of ‘em won’t make it back.

He hadn’t actually thought about that ‘til a few days ago, when he overheard Mags talking to their sergeant about making some changes to her will, “just in case”. The notion jammed up his mind like a wrench in the works; in none of his imagined scenarios did he picture himself going to battle and not returning. Even when he tried, he couldn’t properly comprehend it. His mind would keep glancing away, like when you accidentally touch a hot plate and pull your hand back before you even realise. Some kinda self-preservation instinct. But that was alright. His granny always used to tell him that thinking negative only bred more negative, so it was good he didn’t dwell on those thoughts. So long as he focuses on the positive, everything’s gonna work out fine. So long as he thinks they’re gonna make it back, they will.

O’Hanrahan swallows, and rubs his thumb in small circles on Six’s hand. “So, you lookin’ forward to when this business”—he gestures vaguely towards the dam—“is all over?”

Six shrugs. He can’t quite seem to look O’Hanrahan in the eyes. “Guess so,” he says, after a long pause.

Truthfully, it’s hard for O’Hanrahan to picture a _when-it’s-over_ too. So much of his time has been building up to this, revolving around this; it’s hard to think of a future where it’s nothing but a distant memory.

“Hey,” O’Hanrahan says, his voice quiet, when the silence gets awkward again, “during the battle, what’re you gonna be doing? I mean, I know what my squad’s doing, n’ I know about the other squads, but what about you? Where will you... I dunno, be?”

Six chuckles, a weak huff of laughter with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “M’not sure, actually. Around, I guess. Not close enough t—”

He cuts himself off, shaking his head. O’Hanrahan feels the urge to keep talking, but Six buries his face in the nape of O’Hanrahan’s neck and mutters about how he really don’t wanna get into all that right now. More thoughts circle around in O’Hanrahan’s head, more of those nebulous negative thoughts his mind won’t quite let him touch. He scrunches his eyes shut, as if that will make them leave, and decides to follow Six’s lead and stop talking about it. Of course, that gets much easier to do when Six shifts position so he can plant whisker-scratchy kisses along O’Hanrahan’s jawline.

Six gets to his feet and dusts off his pants before taking O’Hanrahan by the hand, pulling him up into a tight embrace, and kissing him roughly, all teeth n’ tongue. They stagger-walk, still entwined, back to the shack, leaving any grim thoughts of the future behind in the dirt alongside their discarded beer bottles.

The door to the shack is old and warped, and Six has to shoulder-check it before it swings open. It’s damp and mildewy and smells a little like lakelurks, but at least there’s a proper bed and a nice rug on the floor, and an oil lamp in the corner gives the whole place a warm amber glow. Heck, O’Hanrahan wouldn’t’ve even minded if this place was nothing more than a lean-to made out of sticks; as long as he has enough room to cuddle up with his beloved, he’s satisfied.

Six walks O’Hanrahan backwards ‘til his shins bump up against the edge of the bed and they fall onto the old mattress together in a tangle of limbs. O’Hanrahan sits up, kissing down Six’s neck, as he tugs off his shirt and tosses it onto the floor. His shirt is soon joined by a number of other clothes, all hurriedly flung away, lying in piles on the dusty floorboards.

They make love, hot n’ passionate; loud enough to drown out the distant droning echo of the drums and chase all other concerns from their minds. It’s nice while it lasts.

O’Hanrahan lies on his back afterwards, his hands gently clasped and resting on his torso, feeling the quick rise and fall of his chest. Six props himself up on an elbow and reaches over, brushing sweaty strands of hair off O’Hanrahan’s forehead, and mutters something about wishing he didn’t have to be back at Golf in the morning.

“It’ll be okay,” O’Hanrahan says, reaching up and running a hand along Six’s cheek. “We’ll have plenty of time together when all this is over, right?”

Maybe it’s just the low light in the shack but he swears Six gets an odd look on his face, like he knows something O’Hanrahan doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he says, softly. “Of course.”

There’s an odd silence and O’Hanrahan feels his mind brush up against the edges of the thoughts he’s not supposed to think. _Can’t dwell on those_ , he reminds himself, _need to fill the silence with something, anything_.

“Hey, y’know,” he says, playing with a loose thread of the thin blanket he’s lying on, “I was thinking about gettin’ out of the army. Like, as soon as my contract’s up. Might see if anyone around here’s lookin’ for a farmhand or something. I could do that, right? I’m good at that.”

“That’s a real good idea,” Six says, with a fond smile that makes the corners of his eyes crease and makes O’Hanrahan forget all about the weird look from earlier. “Reckon you’d be great at that.”

He scoots closer and motions for O’Hanrahan to roll to the side so he can curl around him, the curves of their bodies fitting together perfectly. It’s a warm night and they’re hot, sweaty, and the skin of Six’s soft belly sticks a little against the small of O’Hanrahan’s back. There’s something nice about it, though; having someone next to him so warm and solid. Such a stark difference to so many nights spent alone in his cot.

Six’s hand is resting on his hip, but O’Hanrahan reaches down and brings it up so that he’s clutching it to his chest. Six moves his other arm underneath and pulls him closer, burying his face in the back of O’Hanrahan’s neck and breathing in deeply.

“You tired or somethin’?” O’Hanrahan asks, and Six makes a noise of agreement, humming against his skin.

He lets go of Six’s hands, so Six can roll over and go to sleep proper, but Six doesn’t move. He stays there, his thick arms wrapped tight around O’Hanrahan, holding him so close it’s like he can’t bear to let go.

O’Hanrahan’s content to lie there in the dark and drink in the feeling of Six pressed up against his back. He stays still and quiet, breathing slowly and evenly, ‘til he feels Six do the same. He’s half-wondering if Six has gone and fallen asleep, but then he hugs O’Hanrahan a little tighter and whispers something. It’s so soft and so quiet, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself.

“Whatever happens,” Six mutters, his breath skittering across O’Hanrahan’s bare shoulders, “just stay safe.”

O’Hanrahan finds Six’s hand in the dark and squeezes it tight.

_I will._  

**Author's Note:**

> also lmao sorry for the song lyric title but sometimes a story's been sitting title-less in your drafts since *checks revision history* march 2017 and there comes a point where ya just gotta go with the first thing that pops into your head and toss the story out there
> 
> title comes from Dilaudid, by the Mountain Goats


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